Yellow is a Happy Colour
by Death's Daughter
Summary: RemusSirius. Colours stand for different things depending on how you look at them.


"Yellow is a happy colour." Sirius told his friends, as he rolled a buttercup yellow juggling ball over the tabletop.

"What?" James asked, frowning at his friend.

"Well it is, isn't it?" Sirius glanced up at them. "You can't look at the colour yellow and be angry!"

"I personally find yellow quite annoying." Remus commented placidly.

"Yeah, but the strongest negative emotion you feel when looking at yellow is mild irritation." The black-haired boy pointed out. "Plus, loads of good things are yellow."

"Like what?" James demanded.

"Smiley faces," Sirius said. "The sun, dandelions – "

"Which are _weeds_." Remus pointed out.

"Yeah, but they're still nice."

"Oh you big girl."

"Shut up. Galleons,"

"Technically gold." Remus interrupted again.

"This juggling ball, which, by the way, will be thrown at your head if you don't shut up," Sirius continued, waving the ball threateningly at Remus. "Buttercups, bananas – Yes I _know_ I don't like bananas – "

"Wee?" Peter suggested. There was a pause.

"That's not generally considered a _good_ thing, Wormtail." James said eventually.

"Padfoot thinks it is." Peter said. "He wees everywhere during the full moon."

"But – Oh never mind."

"Vanilla ice cream is yellow," Sirius went on, apparently not at all phased by the brief interlude. "Those yummy-smelling climbing plants – honey something-or-others – Honey, Toffee, Maureen Walsh's hair - "

"That's a good thing?" James asked.

"And the Hufflepuff Quidditch Robes." Sirius finished.

"Are they happy?" Remus asked. "How do they make people happy?"

"Maybe it's because Hufflepuff suck at Quidditch, so everyone's always happy when they see them?" Peter said, thoughtfully.

"They're not _that_ bad." Remus protested, but more because he felt obliged to than because he actually believed it. "Well, they're getting better."

"Oh, who cares?" James said, standing. "Padfoot's got me craving vanilla ice cream now. Who's coming with me on the kitchen run?"

Peter leapt up and Remus and Sirius were left alone. Remus was watching Sirius, who raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

"You're a big daft nance." Remus said fondly. "Remind me to ask you how you see other colours."

Sirius grinned.

* * *

"Grey and grey and grey and grey," Sirius sang cheerfully as he puttered around the dorm. "Grey and grey and grey, I can sing a Woodlouse, sing a Woodlouse, sing a Woodlouse, Yay!"

"Lovely Pads." Remus said, when Sirius had finished and taken his bows to the otherwise empty room. "Indeed, you have managed to truly capture the essence of the majestic and noble Woodlouse."

"That's exactly what I was aiming for." Sirius said, flopping across the foot of Remus' bed.

"Is that all grey is to you then?" Remus asked, poking Sirius with his foot. "Woodlice?"

Sirius thought about this.

Grey was the colour of cloudy days spent lounging in front of the common room fire with the others, doing nothing in particular. It was the colour of the light on the few times he woke up before dawn, curled around his sleeping Moony, who was lovely and warm despite the cool light he was bathed in. It was the colour he and James (and in a slightly more subtle manner, Remus and Peter) were turning Professor McGonagall's hair. The colour of Remus' skin, when he lay pale and battered, after the full moon, before he opened his eyes and smiled tiredly at Sirius and said

"I'm _fine_, Pads, now shove off before Pomfrey catches you."

And stopped Sirius worrying completely.

"Grey," Sirius said, with great deliberation. "Is contentment."

Remus didn't answer and Sirius rolled onto his front to peer at him.

"What about you?" He asked. "What's grey to you?"

Remus looked thoughtful. He briefly pondered giving a rapturous, half-sarcastic description of Sirius' eyes, but he suspected that Sirius might expect that.

"Grey means," Remus said after a while. "That it's time for someone to wash their pants."

Sirius, remembering that incident, after their exam nearly a year ago, burst into raucous laughter, and wouldn't shut up for a long while afterwards.

* * *

James was sitting opposite him, waiting patiently for an answer to the question 'What is Green?'

Sirius was smirking, knowing how much that was irritating James.

He knew James would reply 'Lily's Eyes' rapturously and the other three would look appropriately nauseas. Peter would reply 'Lime Jelly!' in a terribly enthusiastic manner, and then insist that they all go find some RIGHT NOW. Remus would look a little bit puzzled at such an obvious question and wonder if there was a trick before answering 'Grass'.

Sirius wasn't going to answer.

He got the feeling that James knew this but was hoping to stare him into submission. However, as Sirius knew that James would not like the answer he would give, Sirius was not going to tell him anything.

Green to Sirius was intimacy, love and pleasure. It was his bond with Remus.

Sirius had never understood why people had always described orgasm as everything going white. He never saw white – usually either the inside of his eyelids or Remus' face. Afterwards, though, when Sirius opened his eyes afterwards, he saw everything in soft, muted shades of green for a while.

Perhaps this should have been worrying – but Sirius was used to it. Green was the colour that he saw when he was closest to Remus.

Which was why he was just going to sit and smirk at James until he gave up, because, honestly, what sort of man gave a soppy answer like that to a question?

* * *

"Blue." Peter said.

"Warmth." Sirius replied. Blue of the frost on the windows, of the colours of lips that had been outside too long, the colour of a crisp cloudless sky, while Sirius was snuggled up warm in bed or by the fire feeling particularly smug.

"Brown."

"Play." Brown of the mud and muck that Moony and Padfoot roll in and jump in and wade in during full moons. Brown of the sludge pit that the Quidditch pitch became when it rained heavily. Brown of the chocolate on Moony's skin.

"Red?" James tried.

"Pride." Pride for the house that had accepted him despite his family. The red that caused his mother pain even to look at. Red that surrounded him daily, reminding him that he wasn't the same as the rest of his family, that he wasn't like them. Like that.

"Orange."

"Comfort." Flames, orange and red and gold, dancing in front of him when he lay curled up in an armchair, on the sofa, on the floor with Moony, too tired, too comfortable, too warm and happy to move.

Sirius folded his arms and watched as Peter and James exchanged glances. Remus sat a little way away and observed the proceedings with a look of distinct amusement. Sirius agreed with him.

"Purple!" Peter cried, remembering another colour.

"Rest." Purple of midnight, of dreams. Purple of a million fancies that passed behind his eyes while he slept.

"Pink." James suggested, half-heartedly now, on the brink of giving up.

"Moony." The surprisingly delicate pink flush that spread across Remus' cheeks when he was mildly embarrassed, like that very moment. The pink of Remus' lips, smiling at him, smirking at him, forming words against his neck, his chest. Wrapped around him, pressed against him, talking to him. Tempting lips, teasing lips. Moony's lips.

James let out an explosive sigh.

"That's it." He said. "I give up. He doesn't think of any colour normally."

"I should've have thought you'd have realised by now," Remus said with a small smirk. "That Sirius doesn't think about anything normally."

"Yeah." Sirius agreed, lounging back in his chair and winking at Remus. "But then, you wouldn't have been any other way, would you?"

"Arrogant git." James said.


End file.
